


Who He is to You

by neoculturetech



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, But fluffy ending, F/M, Fluff, Kind of angsty?, hong jisoo - Freeform, i hope its good though, i keep on switching from jisoo to joshua i hate myself, this was written in one hour so it's super un-betaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoculturetech/pseuds/neoculturetech
Summary: as you stumble out of the club, trying to keep your balance, your eyes burning and your throat dry, you think about hong jisoo and who he is to you.and the thought of him is enough to make you run back to him again.





	Who He is to You

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS WRITTEN SUPER LATE + UNBETA-ED . PLS BEAR WITH MISTAKES AND STUFF. also i hope you like this work! its my first one for svt! i love hong jisoo!!!

Who _exactly_ was Hong Jisoo to you?

Was he someone that mattered so insignificantly to you that you threw yourself onto any other man who smiled at you?

The person you ran to when you’ve finally had enough?

The only promise of security you have in this world?

Whoever he is to you, he isn’t as insignificant to you.

You think of him whenever another man is holding you in his arms. You think of him whenever you are in another person’s touch. You think of him whenever you aren’t with him. He ghosts you. He haunts you.

You down one more shot.

The sweaty throngs in this club certainly have nothing to worry about. Most of them are bratty college freshmen, living their usual freshmen year. Most of them danced against each other, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, nose to nose, breaths entwining and screaming nothings to each other. They have no bills to pay, no taxes to turn in, no bosses to get angry over—all they have to stress about is school. And even if maybe college was hard for them, being an adult was even harder.

And now a man approaches you from behind, he leans his head on your nape and lands his hands on your hips. And he stays like that. You don’t ask yourself why anymore. You are thinking of Jisoo even though you are inebriated and out of your mind. You are thinking of Jisoo even though you are in someone else’s arms. The person asks you to the dance floor and you nod, taking his hand and passing the other people in the bar as he leads you to the dance floor. Once he finds a spot safe enough for both of you to dance on, he pulls you closer by the hips and pulls your jacket away from your shoulder. His lips ghost kisses on your shoulder and you freeze.

 _Joshua._ You think. _I love Joshua._

You push yourself off of him and stumble out of the club’s exit, happy enough that its exit was near. Your vision blurred and your head was getting cloudy. The security guard asks if you are alright. And you cannot answer because you are wondering what time it is and thinking about how many nights you’ve left Joshua all alone. “What time is it?” You stumble on your words. The security guard says that it is one thirty-one am. You mutter a quick malediction and hail a random car that passes by, but the guard pulls you aside, asking if you need a taxi. You nod and soon, one arrives with the security guard’s help, and you wave him goodbye from the taxi window after you tell the driver your address.

You are anxious and afraid. Afraid Joshua will not be there like he always was. Afraid Joshua is the finally the one who’s had enough. Enough of you and your buffoonery. You are afraid he will slip out of your fingers like sand. You are afraid that when he walks through your apartment door, holding all his belongings in his two hands, he sighs in relief—and that he will finally feel free, like he had just passed the eye of the needle, walked through the storm and survived. You arrive, and your stomach begins to churn at the idea of meeting Joshua at the stairs.

“Joshua, Joshua, Joshua,” you slur with each step you take, doing your best to balance yourself as you take one foot in front of the other. Soon you are standing in front of your door, its bronze 230 gleaming faintly in the light. You pull your keys out of your purse and put them into the door’s hole very clumsily, but it gets the job done.

Once you are inside, you place your shoes by the door and the keys back in your bag, closing the door behind you. You stay quiet and listen for any sign of life. The television plays a 90’s movie, its sound quickly fading away as it ends. Your eyes finally land on Joshua Hong—and you sigh in relief. He is there. He is breathing. He is asleep, and his angelic face makes you cry. This man fell asleep on the couch, sitting on one leg and resting his head on one hand as his elbow is propped up on the couch’s back.

Tears race down your face as you run on over to his side, surprising him in his sleep. His voice is the only soothing thing you’ve heard all day. Sweet, succulent—a promise of safety.

  
“___?” His voice is raspy and potent with confusion. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I just missed you,” you reply and you hold him tighter. You sob. “There were so many other people at the clubs I’ve been going to these days, but every time they try to talk to me, I think of you—and I can’t bring myself to carry on with them, knowing you’re alone here. I can’t bring myself to look at another man while I have you—the only man I would ever need in my life. I’m sorry, Jisoo, I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh,” he strokes your hair and kisses your forehead. “It’s okay, babygirl. I love you so much. You don’t need to be sorry about anything you didn’t do.”

“I’m a bad girlfriend.”

“You fight away guys when you’re drunk because you know you have me,” he grins and plants another kiss on your forehead. “I think you’re a wonderful girlfriend.”

“But I’ve been away for so long.”

“It doesn’t matter. You always come back home either way. You come back home and you don’t smell like sex—maybe like alcohol, yes—but you don’t smell like any other guy. Or girl. Or person, really. That’s fine by me.”

You kiss him.

And this kiss is not like all the other spur-of-the-moment kisses you two pull—this kiss is slow, passionate, loving. His hands run all over your back, and you swing a leg over his hips to straddle him. You put your hands onto his hair and you two continue kissing.

This feeling¬—his lips on yours, the proximity of your bodies only fathomable at this point, and his hands all over your body—leaves you breathless. And at the same time, you are breathless, you are at home.

Joshua was it; the rainbow after the song, the good days after the bad days, and the feeling of passing a thread through the eye of the needle. Joshua was everything and more.

What exactly was Hong Jisoo to you?

Hong Jisoo was home. 


End file.
